


He who does not trust enough, Will not be trusted

by Moonrose91



Series: The Story of How Phil Coulson Married Clint Barton as told by Clint Barton [2]
Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Developing Relationship, It ends up Clint Barton/Phil Coulson by second chapter, M/M, Secrets, Talks about it though, This will have less death and blood in the present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonrose91/pseuds/Moonrose91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between getting Phil to trust him enough to relax on his lap, on his stomach, exposing his back to an assassin, right after being released from medical from a mission gone wrong to a day down the road where they are married, Clint has learned many things about Phil Coulson.</p><p>Five are so very important to Clint, however, because he is Clint and this is what he considers precious enough to curl around and hold onto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you don't trust enough.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sleepsong](https://archiveofourown.org/works/491563) by [Moonrose91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonrose91/pseuds/Moonrose91). 



Clint had issues with people who tried to order him about.

He always itched to disobey.

And he eventually, always did.

Clint settled in the vent above Phil's office, trying not to cackle over how frustrated Agent Hill is over him disappearing on her... again.

"Agent Hill," Coulson began, only to be cut off by Hill going, "You were much nicer to me when I was a Junior Agent."

Clint tenses and leans forward slightly, eager to learn about this.

"Yes. Because you were a Junior Agent. You've improved since then. You don't need me anymore, Agent Hill, as you so emphatically told me when I tried to help, in private and not even on SHIELD property. And maybe if you started treating Specialist Agent Barton with more respect, he would stop irritating you. Well... he would stop going out of his way to irritate you, maybe hide where you could always find him, and maybe stop hitting Agents with various office supplies," Coulson stated.

This is his Coulson voice.

Clint loves his Coulson voice, but that's only because he's not heard Phil's voice outside of grief and he'd rather hear Agent Coulson over Phil if the only time Phil speaks is in grief.

...That sounds bad, even in his head.

Anyway Clint thinks Phil knows he's up here, which is fine with Clint.

Phil, Coulson, whatever, is good.

He always treats Clint like he has a Masters degree or a Doctorate or something like that and the few times Clint needed clarification gave it to him as if reminded that it wasn't his major or something.

And before anyone asks, yes Clint has been to college thank you very much, he's just quiet about it.

And that might have been what he went to Phil about once, after Penny.

Clint swallows at that.

God, he's only been an agent (Specialist Agent technically, but that just means he's an asset and Hill's his handler supposedly, meaning she's 'Special Agent' and no wonder they just say Asset and Handler) for almost two months but it feels like he was at Penny's empty coffin funeral (SHIELD doesn't allow burials to keep the cloning down because yes, the people SHIELD fight are that bad and will use fallen comrades against you) just yesterday.

And that had happened three months before becoming an agent.

“Agent Coulson, just tell me where he is so I can haul him into medical for his check-up,” she ordered.

Clint rolled his eyes.

He knew that Coulson was still feeling a bit brittle over an op gone wrong and anyone below him ordering something from him was going to either get tazed or threatened.

“Agent Hill,” Fury’s voice interrupted and she turned, though Clint had to physically stop himself from jumping.

“Barton is no longer your problem,” he explained as he strode in.

Clint could imagine Coulson’s blank stare, the ‘what now?’ thought process whirling in his head.

Fury has a file in his hand and he drops it on Phil’s desk amongst all the other files and reports and work Phil has scattered about.

“He’s Agent Coulson’s,” Fury stated and Clint did a mental happy dance.

Awesome.

He’d get to play with the Cygnets now!

Assets weren’t supposed to get near the Junior Agents unless their handler was one of the agents in charge of teaching the Cygnets how to behave in SHIELD.

God, that was a harsh time.

Coulson just stared at the file and then looked back up at Fury. “And the handler/asset ratio? Because I thought you were going to stop giving me assets that were more important than me,” Coulson answered and Clint stops doing the happy dance, cold sweeping through his body.

“You always get the difficult cases,” Fury answered simply as he left, Hill hesitating before she followed him out.

Clint waited for the door to shut before he dropped into Phil’s office and settled across from him. Coulson merely stared at him.

“You do realize the only reason you weren’t kicked out of Junior Agent training was because you were willing to work in small groups, right?” he questioned, but there is a touch of amusement there so Clint’s not worried.

“Yep! I would too, if they understood I’ve been sniping people since before I was allowed to drink in any country,” Clint retorted and Coulson gave a nod.

“I put that in your file; sniper freedom, including weapons. Has R & D been giving you problems about the bow?” Coulson inquired and Clint shook his head.

“But my handlers have. They keep giving R & D instructions to keep the bow, so they just keep updating it and say when I am cleared for its use, they’ll hand it over,” Clint answered.

“Go pick it up and head to the range. Get familiar. I am not letting you into the field with that bow until you are thoroughly familiar with it. Instead you’ll either be on training leave or sent out with a rifle only,” Coulson ordered.

Clint grinned.

“Yes sir.”

Clint leaves through the vent and scares the shit out of the R & D people, but they are nice about it after and they all laugh.

He loves his new bow, but he doesn’t harm himself.

Coulson let him have free range and he won’t abuse that trust.

It’s been a long time since someone trusted him.

Clint’s hands tightened around the bow slightly, as he wondered; could he trust Phil?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He who does not trust enough, Will not be trusted." - Lao Tzu (according to the website I found it on)
> 
> "You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you don't trust enough." - Frank Crane (according to the website I found it on)


	2. Learning to trust is one of life's most difficult tasks

Clint's head snaps back in agony, his jaw clenching around the belt as Phil splashes more of the alcohol onto his side.

He shudders and a whine escapes from his throat somehow, as Phil begins to use butterfly strips or whatever they are called, as quickly as he can. The hotel sheets are stained with blood and Clint knows that when they escape into the night instead of resting here, they are taking it all with them.

His jaw clenches down tighter as Phil begins to settle the gauze over the injury and tapes it down.

And then Phil has him and the sheets and they are moving, then in the car, and Clint's in the back and Phil is driving as smoothly as he can and Clint passes out.

When he comes to it is in the safe house on the bed, and Phil is writing reports.

Phil is writing reports on the floor. "Move and I _will_ knock you out," Phil warned and Clint stared.

The question he asked nearly two years ago upon learning that Phil always got the 'difficult ones' echoes in his mind.

_Can I trust Phil?_

It was a question haunted him.

"Why do assets need to make the first move?" he questioned and Phil looked up.

Clint is surprised when his voice cracks.

Phil looks distant and lets out a low sigh. "Back in the beginning of SHIELD, it wasn't a problem. When SHIELD expanded, they needed to have people who could stay back and people to put on the front lines. Eventually, these roles became Assets and Handlers. Occasionally, an Asset became a Handler, but usually when they ended up being good with people... or they noticed Junior Agents kept going to an Asset with questions," Phil began to explain and Clint stares at the soft smile that appears on Phil's face at that. Clint thinks he's hearing a bit of Phil's story, and there is that trust, that trust Phil gives him blindly.

However the smile is gone after a moment. "However of the two, Assets are more valuable. Assets are people who have highly polished skills. Yes, there are normal agents," Phil stated, and Clint is surprised by that, because everyone he meets is Specialist Agent So and So or Special Agent Whatshername.

"But normal agents are... something else. Something to fill the ranks. Not everyone can be an officer, and such. Handlers are expendable. Rarely does that flip," Phil continued to explain, and Clint remembers that day, about two years ago now, when Coulson had mentioned that Fury was trying to keep him away from the irreplaceable ones or something similar.

Clint's gut freezes again upon the realization that as part of Phil's job, he has to ensure that Clint gets out of there and damn the consequences if Phil gets caught.

And he remembers HYDRA and _that song_ and Phil's distant eyes and Clint swears to ensure that either both or neither of them get out.

And then Phil's trust comes up.

"So... Handlers, back before this, made it seem to the Assets that they had no choice. Assets have much less to lose then Handlers when they go out on missions. Handlers have everything," Phil answered softly.

"And sometimes...sometimes Handlers would trick Assets into making that move in a debriefing room and kissing their Handler, even though they didn't want to because it would be on camera and security would give them hell for it. So it’s not a perfect system. It never can be perfect because SHIELD trusts nobody and well... no one trusts them," Phil answered.

Clint has a feeling that that is Phil's story too.

"You trust me though," Clint stated.

"Yes," Phil answered.

"Why?"

Phil stared at him and answered, "Because someone needs to trust you."

Clint isn't sure what to think of that and lets Phil check his side. He hisses as Phil carefully inspects his side and he hears his Handler, his Phil, sigh softly. Clint, instead of letting Phil back away, reaches up and gently grips the back of Phil's neck. Well, more like rests his hand there.

Phil glances up at him and says, simply, "You don't want me, Barton."

"Don't tell me what I do or don't want," Clint shot back.

He doesn't kiss Phil, or do anything, really, beyond resting his hand on the back of Phil's neck.

And Phil never breaks his hold.

Clint could snap his neck and Phil, he thinks, Phil knows that.

There was always something about Phil that screams at Clint that this man could kill you and no one would ever know.

Clint spent time with those people, in the 'circus' he grew up in. Oh, they did circus acts, but they weren't really a circus. They were a mercenary group and you either pulled your weight or you were cut out, sometimes literally.

"Why were you an Asset?" Clint asks.

"That's a story for another time, Barton," Phil responds and Clint lets it go.

Phil has spilled enough of his secrets to Clint for tonight, without asking for anything in return.

Clint gives him something anyway.

He gives Phil _Barney_.

Clint thinks he might be learning to trust again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Learning to trust is one of life's most difficult tasks." - Issac Watts


	3. Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.

Clint decides to ask Phil out on their first date as the doctor in medical is stitching up his side. He offers to get them Chinese take-out at the place Phil always eats from when he has to work late and tonight is a late night sort of night, since he knows this is going to require paperwork and maybe, and that’s a big maybe, Clint will actually do the paperwork in time.

Phil agrees to the date and Clint shows up with Chinese.

They move to the couch and they are eating, not talking and it is easy and light. “We never had sex,” Phil suddenly stated, breaking the comfortable silence.

Clint looked up in surprise, his chopsticks holding a piece of Phil’s orange chicken. It is testament to how comfortable Clint is with chopsticks that the piece doesn’t fall onto the couch, considering his hand was halfway between them.

“What?” he questioned.

“My former handler, the one that manipulated me emotionally, we didn’t have sex. I always used it for manipulation and didn’t feel comfortable about doing it for…fun,” Phil explained.

“Oh. Good,” Clint responded.

“Good?”

“Yeah. I would have wanted to murder him if he had done that to you,” Clint answered and Phil let out a low chuckle.

“Hard to kill a dead man,” Phil responded.

Clint doesn’t ask if Phil was the one to kill him or if it was someone else and Phil doesn’t offer to tell him.

However, Phil is looking dark and Clint eats the piece of orange chicken before reaching over to steal some of Phil’s rice next, only to have Phil bat Clint’s chopsticks away with his. Clint grins and somehow, they end up not finishing their reports, but Clint gets a small smile out of Phil and that’s fine.

The next morning Clint’s reports are on Phil’s desk, properly put together and cleaned up and nice.

Over the next six months they take it slow, which is fine with Clint.

They go on ops where Clint learns ‘eyes up high with a gun’ means ‘pick your weapon’, but ‘eyes up high with a rifle’ means ‘I swear to God Barton, if you dare go up there with your bow, I will strangle you with my tie’.

Well maybe not strangling, but Clint has too much fun translating what Phil really means when he’s Agent Coulson and it is like having his snarky voice in the back of his head. He settles up high and if he’s feeling particularly bored, he begins to do realistic translations until someone (Phil) orders radio silence or until the conversation ends, whichever comes first.

Clint likes to think he is the sole reason Phil hasn’t snapped and murdered everyone yet.

When Clint told Phil that, one night when relaxing on Phil’s couch, he got a laugh.

Clint grinned and leaned up to kiss Phil, catching that laugh on his lips.

They are about a year into their relationship when they get to go on a surveillance op in Las Vegas.

It is mostly tracking after a black market guns trafficker, but that is enough to get attention from SHIELD, considering that they are selling Stark tech. They are staying at the hotel across the street from the traffickers, with beautiful sight lines directly into the rooms the traffickers are using, and Clint is enjoying acting like a tourist, which really doesn’t make him stand out, considering it is summer and the place is filled with them.

Phil, however, is making their covers as tourists hard to believe, considering he has yet to do touristy things.

In fact, he hasn’t even gone to the Casino that’s in their hotel omitting the first night they were there.

Mostly because he spends most of his time in the hotel room using a tie as a blindfold. Clint thinks he heard mutters of ‘cursing the sun into oblivion’, but he’s not entirely sure.

So, Clint decides to go hunting for something to cheer Phil up.

He scours little touristy shops that are filled with horribly gaudy things and he snickers over a shirt he finds. 

It is a shirt, covered in sequins and in colors that will probably have them yanking it off the shelf in a matter of days. The sequins that decorate it make the letters, _My brother went to Las Vegas and all I got was this lousy t-shirt._

Clint snickers over it and decides to get it, because it is awful and he’s noticed that Phil smiles over awful things.

Clint changes into it the minute he returns to the hotel room, even before closing curtains and turning on the closet light, but turning the rest of the lights off.

“You up Phil?” he questions softly, wondering if Phil is coming down with something to be so bedridden all the time.

“No. My head is just killing me. It always does when I go to the desert. Heat and sun don’t mix well for me,” Phil answered and Clint let out a soft hum.

He shifted and carefully straddled Phil’s waist, knees braced against Phil’s ribcage. With a smile, he leaned forward and began to rub Phil’s temples. Phil let out a low groan of relief and Clint smiled.

“Think you can take off your blindfold?” Clint asked.

Phil hesitated before he shifted and did just that. He blinked a couple of times and a tension Clint hadn’t noticed released, before he blinked up at the shirt. “What are you wearing?” he asked.

Clint beamed and would have spread his arms if he wasn’t busy massaging Phil’s head, mostly at the temples.

“Like it? I thought it would cheer you up,” he stated and Phil chuckled, running his fingers along the sequins.

“It is a rather atrocious pattern,” he stated.

“And color. Don’t forget the color,” Clint added with a grin.

Phil’s forehead furrowed in confusion before he seemed to mentally kick himself. “Right, you can’t get into my personnel file,” he muttered.

Clint’s head twitched to the side and Phil flushed slightly. “I have achromatopsia,” he explained. Clint’s face went into blank confusion and Phil sighed. “It’s a rare condition where certain nerves in my eyes never formed correctly, I believe. I never did as much research into it as I should have. The effect being that I only see in black, white, and shades of grey. I also have severe light sensitivity. That is part of it, I believe. I see best in the dark. It is still an atrocious pattern,” he explained.

“Huh. I thought you were military,” Clint responded.

Phil laughed quietly and reached up, gently running his fingers through Clint’s hair and Clint leans into the gesture, even though his own fingers never stop massaging through Phil’s hair, having left his temples alone.

“No. I couldn’t be with my achromatopsia. My father, however, is a member of a long-standing assassin family. He had me trained well,” Phil answered and Clint blinks in shock.

“You were an assassin?”

“More like ‘assassin with long term contract’. SHIELD picked me up when I got the drop on an assassin trying to take out one of their best operatives, even though I was on vacation. I miss vacations,” Phil answered.

“Badass from the beginning, huh Phil?” Clint asked, tilting his head in appreciation as Phil’s fingers begin to work their way down his neck and to his shoulders as the man answered, “Naturally.”

He slowly melts down so his head is pillowed on Phil’s chest, his Handler’s heartbeat pounding against his ear. Phil’s hands began to work their way down Clint’s arms until they were holding hands and Clint dozed on top of Phil.

“What do you mean, well-trained?” Clint asked, softly, carefully.

And Phil tells him. Tells him of long hours of language classes of learning to blend in, of weapons and efficiency being pounded into his brain, and, until he looked around, learning what Christmas was and how years passed with only a passing mention made of his birthday.

When Phil finishes, he doesn’t ask for anything else from Clint, because that is never how they worked.

But Clint gives Phil the circus. The circus that wasn’t a circus and for the first time, Clint thinks someone can understand what it means to have your childhood ripped from you and twisted until you stare at people in confusion when they talk about campouts or other family things.

Phil, still holding Clint’s hands gently next to his head as Clint talks and he finds it more grounding than anything else, except maybe archery, but it is right up there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time." - Maya Angelou
> 
> This is the updated chapter.


	4. Trust becomes solidified when words consistently back up by deeds.

Junior Agents still love Phil.

Clint still finds it adorable.

He’s _happy_ , for once, with the relationship he has with Phil and he keeps to the vent, because he can. He loves listening and smiles at the way each promise, each gentle reassurance, is backed up by Phil. He never lets anyone down, never makes promises he can’t keep.

He never promises they’ll get back to HQ at the end of the day, something that makes Clint’s heart ache, because he wishes Phil _could_.

But Phil doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. “Barton, suit up. Wheels up in ten,” Phil called, making his little cygnets fall backwards in surprise when Clint drops down into the room with a grin.

“And stop scaring the Junior Agents,” Phil added and Clint pouted a bit.

“Awww. But it’s _fun_ , sir,” Clint answered and Phil leveled him with an unimpressed look while the little cygnets’ eyes widened in surprise and they clumped together.

“Wheels up in nine, Barton,” Phil warned and Clint tore out of the office with a grin on his face.

He had a feeling this was going to be _fun._

“What has you all excited Barton?” Hill asked as he twisted around her.

“Agent Coulson and I are taking the kiddies out for their first mission,” Clint answered with a cackle before he continued to run off.

Everything would be fine, Clint was sure of it.

That didn’t stop him from knocking on his wooden bookcase, however, as he went to get ready to head out.

* * *

Clint doesn’t think, he just aims, an explosive arrowhead _slamming_ into a joint of the robot and blowing it up. The wave hits him, and the cygnets he’s protecting, causing them to stumble back, but this bunch is hardier.

They’ve taken the fact that this mission has blown up in their faces with stride, firing back at Clint’s command, accepting him easily as the best, as the one in charge while Coulson works on getting the rest of them out. His little cygnets that he’ll kill, or do worse, for.

He hesitates when he realizes they are missing four, Phil and three others, but Clint isn’t able to go back before he has to haul the rest, seven left with him, out and away. He has them in their transport and he pulls himself on top of it, balancing. He aims quickly and keeps firing until he has to drop back into their transport, aka the armored SHIELD van.

“We’re going back for Agent Coulson, right sir?” one of the little cygnets asked.

Carol Brimming.

Clint merely grinned.

“Of course,” he answered.

* * *

Clint has the stockier, harder, Reese with him.

Reese lived in a mercenary band for eight years.

There is little that could shake him.

“ _Sleep_ _, my child, and peace attend thee, all through the night; Guardian angels God will send thee.”_

Reese stopped short at that.

“Who is that?” he asked.

“ _All through the night; Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, hill and vale in slumber sleeping, I my loving vigil keeping, all through the night._ ”

Clint sighed softly and answered, “That’s Phil.”

Reese stared in shock, even as Phil continued to sing, his voice echoing through the damp corridor.

“ _While the moon her watch is keeping, all through the night; while the weary world is sleeping._ ”

Clint picked up speed, wondering who Phil was holding.

His voice was breaking more than usual.

His voice was stumbling over the words, and there were obvious signs, to Clint at least, that Phil was crying.

_“All through the night; O'er thy spirit gently stealing, visions of delight revealing, breathes a pure and holy feeling, all through the night.”_

Clint found the door and got it open with the key card Reese had taken from one of the guards.

“Stay Reese,” Clint ordered.

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Reese muttered and Clint stepped in, only to stop.

Phil was holding a shivering Junior Agent Lamont.

The other two were already covered with the blankets from the cot.

Lamont was starting to have a seizure and Phil seemed to hold him even tighter, still singing.

“ _Hark, a solemn bell is ringing, clear through the night; You, my love, are heav'nward winging, home through the night.”_

Lamont wasn’t breathing and Clint suddenly realized he knew exactly how the other two had died.

“ _Earthly dust from off thee shaken, by good angels art though taken; Soul immortal shalt though waken, home through the night._ ”

It finished before Lamont died, but Clint had to wince at how Phil started it up again, singing the one song he had that would help ease the Junior Agent who was slowly dying from whatever drug AIM had pumped him full of and Phil finally trailed off, even as Lamont collapsed.

Phil let him go and slowly looked up at Clint, who gave a weak smile. “Reese will help,” Clint promised.

Phil nodded and seemed to pull the shattered pieces of himself together until he was fine.

He took the smallest and Reese got Lamont, covered by Phil’s suit jacket, while Clint got the last.

Not being part of the group made it hard to remember their names.

“What is with the singing?” Reese questioned.

Phil didn’t look at him as he answered, “Not here.”

* * *

Reese never found out why Phil chose that song.

But it was the last thing he heard as Phil held him and got soaked in Reese’s own blood.

* * *

“Why do you choose that song?” Clint asked softly.

Having been there at so many now, having heard the song fall broken from Phil’s lips, or soft and barely heard as they hid from people and one of their own lay dying.

They couldn’t always bring them back.

But Phil tried, tried so damn hard, and Clint wanted to know.

Wanted to know why that song.

“It was the last thing I ever heard my mother sing to me,” Phil answered.

Clint stared and leaned in, carefully curling up against him. Phil reached up and ran his fingers lightly over Clint’s scalp and pressed a kiss to Clint’s forehead.

And Clint gave Phil his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Trust becomes solidified when words consistently back up by deeds." - GEORGE DAVID MILLER, _Negotiating Toward Truth_
> 
> As I found it at least.


	5. Trust is a skill learned over time so that, like a well-trained athlete, one makes the right moves, usually without much reflection.

There was nothing special about the day.

Clint was resting on the couch, dozing lightly, his head pillowed in Phil’s lap, and Phil was reading aloud from a book of fairy tales, like he always did since Clint had discovered that Phil liked to read fairy tales.

When Clint had first found out, Phil had looked slightly embarrassed, but had answered Clint’s curious head tilt. He said he liked the whimsy, the idea that, no matter what, no matter the hardships, or how dark it got, good would triumph. And Clint had settled against Phil that first day and poked his side before asking Phil to read Phil’s favorite.

The surprise on Phil’s face had surprised Clint. And he wondered, distantly, if anyone had teased Phil about his love of fairy tales, of that love of something that were morality tales, yet no one laughed if one quoted or referenced Aesop’s Fables. He nudged against Phil and closed his eyes as Phil began to read, hesitant at first, but growing more confident as he continued.

And Clint had demanded another, politely, and another was read.

It was…nice.

It had lead, eventually, to showing Clint his Captain America cards, along with some other classic memorabilia he had managed to collect over the years.

Clint thought it adorable and had managed to find something that Phil didn’t have, which seemed to make Phil go into some sort-of fangasm.

However, that was nearly three months ago and Clint blinked up a bit, still hearing Phil’s voice soothing over his ears. He shifted slightly and gently reached up to tap Phil’s shoulder. Phil placed his thumb in the spot and closed the book. “Yes Clint?” he questioned.

“I have given this a lot of thought. I don’t have a ring, mostly because I couldn’t think of one that fit you that wasn’t one of those cheesy plastic Captain America’s shield rings, but I figure you’ll forgive me. Will you marry me?” Clint asked and Phil _beamed_.

Phil didn’t smile often, not in the long run.

Clint had _never_ seen this on his face. And then Phil leaned down and pressed a kiss to Clint’s lips, which had him reacting immediately, hand coming up to rest against the back of Phil’s head, gently scratching there. They parted just long enough for Phil to say, “Yes,” and then went promptly back to kissing.

The book had fallen to the ground on the spine, the book flipping open to the end of Phil Coulson's favorite tale.

_And they lived happily ever after._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Trust is a skill learned over time so that, like a well-trained athlete, one makes the right moves, usually without much reflection." - Robert C. Solomon
> 
> According to the site I found it on anyway.
> 
> And YAY!
> 
> The proposal.
> 
> ....Sorry it is so short, but I didn't feel it could be longer. Which was why it took me a time to post it.
> 
> Also, I shall be posting the wedding in this part and have it be the first part of the sequel series.


End file.
